Red Lobster, a Brother Remark, and a Milo Dream

Hung out with Lisa, Monica, and Gary last night, as a going-away dinner (sort of—only Gary really ate dinner) for Monica.  I had a really good time; I always do when I’m with them, we just rarely ever see each other.  So we chilled at Red Lobster and then went to walk around Walmart and had a lot of fun.

The rest of this is mostly going to be old stuff because I’ve been slacking on the updates.

First of all, I wanted to make note of something that Brother said the other day, because it was just…well, you’ll see.

He had a couple of friends over, and they were all doing that trick where you flick the card off your finger without moving the coin, and I finally said, “Okay, let me try it.”  I figured there was no way I was going to get it, and I was right, I didn’t, but what was cool was when Brother said, “Yeah, let Ginny try it; Ginny can do anything.”

Now contrast that with what Psychobrat used to tell me every single day behind closed doors:  that I was worthless, stupid, ugly, boring, that she couldn’t believe I had any friends at all, that the friends I had talked about me behind my back, that it made perfect sense to her why I had never had a boyfriend, and that I never would, and she didn’t understand my purpose in being.

“Ginny can do anything.”  No wonder Brother and I get along so much better.

I had a yet another dream about Milo.  I had gone to work as a journalist in this building that very much resembled a grocery store—one that I had seen in my dreams before.  There were even people walking in and out of it, like a woman holding a little girl by the hands.  People coming out with shopping carts.  But I don’t think it really looked like a grocery store inside; and besides that, everything was really dark, like the whole dream took place in the middle of the night.

Anyway, so I arrive to work at this place, as a replacement for Milo, it turns out.  (Not sure if I knew him in the dream or not.)  Milo was, tragically, dead, but probably by suicide.  Anyway, nobody was investigating it, which surprised me, because I thought it was all really mysterious, and I was convinced he had been murdered.  I decided to hunt down his murderer.  Everybody thought I was crazy, because he’d died the year before, it was all over, it had been handled.  But I didn’t care.

So then I get a note.  A clue, it seems, actually, left on my desk.  It’s to me specifically, and it’s a clue to find out just what happened to Milo.  (Don’t ask, I have no idea what it said.)  And I follow it, of course, and then I’m just finding more of these all over…and then it turns out that the clues have all been left by Milo–like, ahead of time, I guess.  Creepy.

Well in the end, I follow the clues all the way to another country (maybe several, but I definitely end up on the other side of an ocean), where I find…Milo.  Alive.  Turned out he’d set up the whole thing to find me—or, have me find him, rather.

It made so much more sense while I was sleeping, because then I had far more details.

Lots of weird stuff in my dream last night, too….

Had a dream last night for the first time, I think, since the last time I updated.

We took a school bus to the Paris Opera House, which was in a setting I’d seen before in my dreams, more than once, and which I think is actually London, but my subconscious said it was supposed to be Paris.  And once inside, I was wandering around with a small group, and then all of a sudden I wasn’t, I was alone, in a bathroom, washing my hands, when, in the mirror, I suddenly noticed somebody standing behind me.  (Obviously, we already know I’m afraid of mirrors, so I guess it’s not surprising that this happened in a dream.)

I jumped and turned around, and it was Moaning Myrtle, sobbing softly as she stared at me.  And then, sure enough, I noticed that the scenery looked very much like that bathroom we see in Chamber of Secrets (but I don’t think I was aware of it in my dream; that’s just what I realized when I woke up), and Moaning Myrtle was upset at the moment because she was in love with someone, and although she followed him all over the opera (he lived there, you see) he never seemed to want to pay any attention to her, because he was only interested in me.  I didn’t really know what she was talking about.

Myrtle, however, said, “You know Erik…couldn’t you tell him about me?…I know he’d love me, too, if he’d only notice me…we would have lots in common…he even calls himself the ‘Opera Ghost’”.

I’m not exactly sure what it amounted to, but I refused, because of course he is my Erik, he doesn’t belong to some annoying ghost, so I said no (probably quite rudely, I’m ashamed to say, but it was my dream) and she flew off, crying harder than ever.

So then I went and sat in the theatre, which was dark, and I’m not sure whether any other people were around, but I think the audience must have been full, because I had come with a group, whoever they were, and then I heard what sounded like a muted trumpet, and it was–some guy up onstage was playing it.  And he was dressed like a mime.

Then, to the right side, I heard something else, and there was a spotlight all of a sudden on a man playing a tenor sax—and it was John Cleese.  (John Cleese, so far as I know, does not play tenor sax, but in my dream, he was surprisingly good—really good.)  He was just wearing black and white, and then, from Stage Left, another spotlight came up on a guy with another tenor sax, and he’s shouting at John, “You’re not supposed to wear the tux; I am!  That’s my trademark!  Yours is this!”  So he holds up this clown suit.  It looks sort of like Roberto Benigni’s Pinnochio costume.  (At any rate, it would have given Cortney nightmares, let’s put it that way.)

John plays calmly, and finally says, “My trademark is whatever I want it to be,” and this little guy (little compared to John, at least!) appeared with another coat hanger, holding a black jacket to go with the rest of his ensemble.  He puts it on casually and then just keeps playing, so the other guy storms off.

So then I’m at the café.  It looks nothing like the café, though…I think it’s actually another part of the supposed Paris Opera House, and we’re cleaning stuff up, but it’s not normal sort of cleaning we’re doing; we’re cleaning grass, and we’re taking huge pieces of machinery and things out to various people’s pickup trucks, because suddenly everybody I work with is driving one.

And I’m headed out one of the back doors, and somebody’s holding the door for me, and it’s Terry Jones, so, wanting to appear that I already know him (I don’t know, something like that), I said, “Oh, thank you, Jonesy” very casually.

He turned back for a second, startled, and looked at me, trying to figure out who I was, then seemed to assume that I was just a stranger who was obsessed with all things Python, and he sort of glowered and said, “I don’t like being called Jonesy.”

I said, “But everybody calls you Jonesy!”  (This really isn’t true; I’ve only heard a few.  But it seems natural to call him such.)

He said, “I wish they wouldn’t.  It’s only a nickname.  I don’t like it.”

So I said, “Well, I’m sorry, but what else can I call you?  Terry?  Well then you’re hardly distinguishable from Terry Gilliam, are you?  I mean, how’s anyone supposed to know which of you I’m talking about?”

Well, of course, by now, I’ve got him in conversation—argument, at least—so he’s not keen to leave my side now, and we head out to some pickup truck, and there’s somebody in the back of it, just standing there, very still, in that Pinnochio costume, with lots of makeup, and I know it’s a Python, but I can’t figure out which, and I’m just staring at him, until finally I determine that it’s Terry Gilliam.  So I exclaim, “Little Gilliam!”

…‘Little Gilliam’!?  I have never referred to him this way in my life, but that’s what came out of my mouth.  And I insisted that I always called him this.  (I’ll just add here that they were all in costume, but I can’t now remember what the others were.)

So then, inside (and I had to get something from inside the theatre to take outside), I ran into Michael, who was most friendly from the start, and whose hand I kept trying to hold, but he kept refusing because, “I’m married!  I have a wife!” he’d say.  (Damn it!  So typical—every time they appear in my dreams, he’s always resisting my advances because he’s married.  I mean, sure, that’s admirable, and I would expect nothing less if I actually were to meet him—but it’s a dream, damn it all! I mean…come on…please?  Just once?  Okay, fine, be that way.  …I love you, anyway!)

And I can’t really remember…it seems like Eric (with the c, not the k) and John were moving stuff around in the theatre, like set or something, and were helping to carry it out to random pickups, too.  I don’t know.  It’s all so muddled, and since when did I work in the Paris Opera House, anyway?  …Damn it, if that dream had gone on much longer, Erik would have probably killed the entirety of Monty Python right there in front of me.  I just thought of that.  And Moaning Myrtle would have laughed….

A Potterish Dream

I got kicked out of my classes because I hadn’t paid for them yet…I really hope that check gets here soon, because otherwise I won’t be able to freaking pay for these, either.  I re-registered for three of them, but the philosophy class was full, so I replaced it with Western Civ. 1589-Present with the only teacher who ever made history interesting for me, so that’s cool.  Now I’m taking three of my favorite teachers again.  But I have to get them paid for!  My dad has been insisting since I graduated high school that I should just take a semester off and work, but…um…no.  I don’t want to do that.  If I start doing that, I’ll never finish.

Okay, so I had this dream.  We had just come from a Harry Potter party, and so we’re all in our Hogwarts stuff and everything, and then we go and get on a train.  And then Cort and Nicole sort of…fade away, so it’s just me on this train, in HP stuff, and I’m strolling around (and it seems like the train goes in more directions than just back and forth–like there were actual rooms and hallways like a building or something), and run into some young parents with a 2-year-old daughter named Hannah.  (I sadly cannot now remember her last name.)

Hannah’s got red hair and she’s wearing this long green dress, and she’s supposed to be dressed as “the baby Weasley,” who doesn’t actually exist.  And she’d won a costume contest and all.  So she was wearing a ribbon on her dress.

Anyway, so I ran into them and recognized them from the party (as it had just passed a few minutes before), and the parents acted all snobby and said they didn’t remember me, as the party had been two years before.  The train had gone through like a time warp or something.  Okay.

It was then that I decided to look out the windows.  There’s nothing there.  I mean…nothing.  We’re sort of  hurtling along through this black void—creepy stuff, I’m telling you.

So I’m walking around, and eventually I run into Jasper, who is the only person on the train not dressed in HP stuff.  Jasper’s got a lightsaber.  And I say, “Jasper!  Good to see a familiar face!” and he says, “Yeah…Andrew’s here, too, somewhere.”  So I’m like, “Oh, I’m going to go find him and invite him to tea in our compartment.”  (Tea?  I grow increasingly more British in my dreams all the time.  Not, of course, that I mind.)

But Jasper says, “No, wait!  He’s killing people.”

I stopped suddenly.  “He…what?”

Jasper explains, “He already killed this one whole family, and he’s looking for this little two-year-old named Hannah, and he wants to kill her, too.”

I said, “I know Hannah….”

So Jasper told me that I had to protect Hannah, and if it came down to it, I had to kill Andrew, too.

Okay.  So I ran.  And I didn’t stop running until I found Hannah and her parents.  Hannah’s just sitting in the middle of the floor reading a stack of little kid’s books—maybe not reading, she might have been coloring in them or something—and the parents looked at me and were kinda like, “You again?  Go away.”

I attempted to explain to them that somebody wanted to kill their daughter, but they started shouting at me, and they thought I was crazy, and they wanted to take Hannah away, and I refused.  I told them she had to stay with me.

And then I just happened to glance down at the end of the corridor, through the window at the door, and it’s all dark, but I can just barely see Andrew standing there, staring at Hannah.

So I picked her up, and the parents are shouting at me, and Andrew opens the door at the end, and I take out my wand and start running with Hannah, who’s just holding a couple of books, and I’m still in HP stuff so my robe’s all billowy behind me and stuff—LOL—and they’re still shouting, and he Avada Kedavra’d them, and he’s running after us, so finally we got to one compartment where there appeared to be a closet of sorts in the side, and I sort of threw her and her books in there and shouted, “Stay there; don’t come out!” and whirled around to face Andrew, wand ready…

…And my sister started banging on the front door like a crazed lunatic and woke me up.  Yes, I hate when these things happen, but, as I explained to Andrew, if I hadn’t woken up then, I probably would have killed him, and then I would have woken up all traumatized.

That’s all for now, I guess.  We’re really, really busy at work these days; I won’t be getting off in the evenings until probably around 10:30.

Oh…and my dad wants to impose time limits on the computer, because every time he comes home from work late, I’m on it.  Never mind the fact that Psychobrat is on it all day every day—it’s just that I have it for a couple of hours each night, and that pisses him off.

Oh yeah…and now we have to pay $380 for that car window my brother shot out, not just $250.  And I don’t know if we’re paying any damages on the other car he shot.  I didn’t really hear what happened with that except the guy driving it wanted to beat the crap out of my brother, and wouldn’t back off until the cop physically held him off.

Fun stuff.

Just A Brief, Random Dream

I had a dream this morning.  It wasn’t really all that remarkable except for the fact that I think I was engaged to Cross.  I was…I was eating breakfast somewhere with him and my mom, in this little cafe, and I think I had a sandwich, and then Cross had to go to a hearing or something, because he was a…lawyer?  Mmkay.

I’m not sure why I followed him.  It seems that I didn’t know what he had to do upstairs (there were at least three stories–a restaurant on the bottom, a church on the second, and a courtroom on the third), so once I got up there, and all these men in suits and white wigs were filing in (like we were in England or something–not, of course, that I minded) I said, “Oh, you know, I think I’d rather go downstairs and sit with my mom, then,” so I tried to find the stairs….

It was really weird.  They had four different flights of stairs going the same places.  They had men’s stairs and women’s stairs.  And then they had the up stairs and the down stairs, all of which were noted with little triangle signs, pointing up or down, and containing those little bathroom symbols.  So just as I’ve spotted the women’s down stairs, this attractive woman with wavy blonde hair comes and pulls me by my shoulders and says, “No, you’re late to Sunday school; come this way,” in this sweet-but-firm voice, and pulls me into a classroom.

Damn it if it wasn’t The Cult (what I am calling the collective whole of that stupid religion class).  Fortunately, the woman wasn’t Stephanie, but while she didn’t look anything like her, she acted exactly like her.

I stood at the door for a second and said, “Um…I can’t stay, I’m supposed to be either downstairs with my mother or upstairs with my–uh–husband.”

I knew we weren’t married yet, but it sounded a lot more respectable to say “husband” than to say “fiance”, like they could argue with one, but not with the other.

Well, The entire Cult was staring at me, and the teacher was staring at me with this patronizing smile on her face, and she said in that sweet, honeyed voice, “Now, don’t be a nasty little liar; we don’t want nasty little liars in our Sunday class.”

I stared at her, enraged because–well, maybe I was lying, but she didn’t know that!  She just wanted me to stay in her stupid class!  So I said, coldly and haughtily, “And if I’m not lying?” wondering what she could possibly say to that….

She said, always in the same voice, “Oh, but you are.”

“No,” I almost shouted, “I’m not!  My mother is downstairs and my husband is upstairs!  They’re both waiting for me!”

The class hissed–they actually hissed!  And the teacher said, “We don’t want to hear nasty little stories about your love life here–”

I interrupted, definitely shouting now.  “Oh, so marriage is illegal now, is it, marriage is somehow immoral–”

And at that moment, my cell phone rang and I woke up.

A Wookiee Christmas and a Will Ferrell Dream

Forget everything you have ever heard:  Plan 9 From Outer Space is not the worst movie ever made; The Star Wars Holiday Special is.

For the most part, it wasn’t even laughably bad; it was just unspeakably so!  No plot; I’m serious!  Things just randomly happened—random characters appeared and disappeared, musical numbers were performed merely for the sake of taking up time!  Carrie Fisher sang.  Entire scenes of Wookiees conversing in Wookiee (with no subtitles, might I add) were played.  That was the whole movie, basically.  The one brief scene with Darth Vader was stolen right out of A New Hope.  There’s a place in the end when Chewie arbitrarily stares into space and dreams about things that happened in A New Hope—some of which he didn’t even witness.  None of it fit into the timeline at all (which led me to the conclusion that it must have all been taking place in a separate dimension—although, as I pointed out, I didn’t know why I was bothering with the attempt at rationalization when there was no rationality to any of it at all).  The cartoon made more sense than anything else, even though we couldn’t see why that was placed in there, either…and right in the middle of everything.  There was something like soft porn, and there was a Bizarro Rocky Horror Martha Stewart.  I didn’t understand!  I still don’t, and I promise you—I never will.

On with the Will Ferrell dream.

I was bored one night, and nobody could hang out, so for some reason I decided to drive to St. Augustine…alone…down A1A (a drive that I do love, but it’s already creepy when you’re with somebody—imagine being completely alone at about 8:30 when it’s dark).

I arrive, park, and go walking down St. George Street.  I’m just walking along, and everything is closed, and…nobody is there at all, except me.  And I’m walking…and then I pass this little arcade thing, where there is a light on, and somebody is inside, hyperactively running around to various machines.  It’s Will Ferrell. I stop, look at him strangely, and continue on my way.

About two hours later, when I’m coming back in the other direction, I see that he is still in there, and now he looks drunk, and is clinging on to an air hockey machine (because that is apparently the only way he can keep himself upright by this point).  And he’s whacking the puck against the walls of the machine, and he just really looks drunk.  I walk in and say, “I would be absolutely delighted to play a game with you.”

He looks thrilled, too, and gives me the…not the puck, but the other thing…um…whatever it’s called.  He then takes out a large white plastic egg and starts trying to hit the puck with that.

I say, “Uh…what’s that?”

He replies, “Harry Potter.”

Of course, this line somehow makes perfect sense to me in my dream, so I just nod and continue playing.  I think the way I interpreted it was that it was supposed to be Norbert’s egg, and it was some sort of children’s toy.

We give up on the game after a while and just walk outside, and he’s clinging onto me for support…and we round a corner, and there’s Kristen, who immediately goes all fangirlish and wants a picture with Will.  I happily oblige, knowing well about her obsession, of course.  And he then clings onto her and slurs, “Great!  I have a girlfriend now!” which thrills Kristen even more.

And then Cortney, Nicole, and Katie all show up, and we’re all standing together looking at Kristen and Will Ferrell and saying, “Awwww, how cute!”  Not really like us at all, but…there you have it.

And that was really it.  I’d better go to bed now.

Another Superhero Dream

I finally had a dream last night; it had been a while!  Maybe it’s because I’ve started updating a bit more frequently, so my subconscious decided, well, she’s willing to talk again–let’s give her something to talk about.  (I ❤ my subconscious.)

First of all, I don’t know where I was; and like certain other of my dreams, I wasn’t really me, I just looked like me.  And my dad looked like my dad, too, but wasn’t him, either.

We were in some large city where superheroes were…not exactly common, but people weren’t all like, “OMGSUPERMANLIVESHERE!”  (Superman was not in my dream; that was just an example.)  Basically, just the way people act in any fictional town where one or more superheroes reside; normal, except for that.

But where there are superheroes, there are also supervillains.

There was one superhero (and I’m not even sure if he was the only one) who had…turned bad.  I don’t know what all of his powers were (which didn’t change when he turned, he just used them differently), but I do know that he was able to see people’s souls.  He could see things about them that they sometimes didn’t know about themselves.  He could tell if there was evil inside them, or whatnot.  I guess he had a whole method worked out of reading and interpreting what he saw.  And he could see people’s souls in other rooms, through walls…basically, it worked like night vision, I think.  I’m not sure what turned him bad (although I could write a story based on this guy…I think I want to now, so I’ll be making up these details I’m unsure about), but he’d been using his powers for evil for a few years.  It was common knowledge that when you saw this guy’s superhero uniform (his identity was, of course, not known)…you could run, but you probably wouldn’t survive.

He ate souls–which, in turn, killed people.  I guess it was kind of like a vampire, in that he had that dark, mysterious sexiness about him while he was killing…or, perhaps more accurately (except sans the sexy part), like a Dementor–he basically sucked people’s souls out of their mouths.  This is not something he did when he was good–it’s just one of the things that changed about him when he became evil.

Now I’m this quiet, innocent little thing…I think perhaps I was a bit younger than I am now, more innocent and naive or something…well, I guess I really must have been, because…well, you’ll see.

So my father, the mad (evil?–undetermined) scientist, worked for the government, coming up with new weapons.

He had just invented this bug-like thing that looked like a bug when it was moving (it looked just like that weird bug I saw at work last night while I was cleaning–some sort of fly/bee combo)…but when it was resting, it folded its wings over itself, was completely still, and looked exactly like an M&M.  All different colors–even pinks!  These M&M bugs ate human flesh.  (This probably has something to do with the fact that I just passed the Knockturn Alley part of CoS yesterday, when Hagrid was looking for Flesh-Eating Slug repellant.)  Not only flesh, but…they basically ate everything…all the way through, until there was merely a bit of shell left over.  And they had just been tested on some guy who had killed his wife…and it was pretty gruesome….  (But it didn’t seem to affect my father at all, as he scooped the bugs into a Ziploc bag–I guess they worked on command?–and sealed it, screaming, “It works; it works!!!”)

It was nighttime, very dark, and I was to help destroy this superhero who had become his own supervillain.  It was known that he hung around this big ex-office building (he’d seen to its undoing, I guess so he’d have a lair) downtown, and my dad and I were driving there.  For some reason, he was sending me off by myself to find this creep, armed with this little bag of M&M bugs.

For my part, I didn’t want to kill him, and I was repulsed by the idea of killing anyone in such a way…but my dad kept reminding me that it was my civic duty.  (I’m not exactly sure what he was doing, but it seems that, in the dream, he really did have something equally important he was doing–maybe we just split up and he had his own bag and it was just whoever found the guy first…I dunno.)

So I started creeping around, and I’m on the outside of this building, where there are lots and lots of windows, and I’m assuming he’s just going to jump out of one, so I’m a bit nervous…but more than fear, all I feel is regret for what I know I have to do.  And I’m walking along…slowly…slowly…trying to reach the edge of the building, where I’m just going to turn the corner and creep along the back wall–alone.

I don’t know what exactly I expect to find–probably him in his costume (which looked oddly like a cross between Spider-Man and Strong Bad…hmm), feeding on some unsuspecting soul.

Well, I reach the edge of the building, and there’s a short hand rail stretching back into the woods, and I figure I’m going to climb over it, when I step forward, and somebody else steps forward from around the corner.

For some reason, it’s Clive Owen.  (The last time I saw him in anything was Closer, but that was about two weeks ago.  Hmmm.)

He looks…well, really hot (it’s Clive Owen, I mean…come on).  But he’s not in the Strong Bad costume–he was wearing a long-sleeved bluish shirt (I think Crayola might call it “cornflower” or “midnight blue”–been a while since I opened a box of those) and jeans and just brown shoes, and he seems…relatively normal, so I just say, a bit calmly, “Oh–hello.”

He just…stares at me for a moment, and finally says slowly, “Who are you?”

I guess I gave him a name.  I’m not really sure.  I just remember him staring, in all his hotness.

Turns out (and I don’t know if he told me this or if I just…knew it) he was the guy I was looking for, just not currently in costume, and he’d been creeping along the other side of the building, because he’d…spotted my soul…creepy…and was following along beside me so he could spring out and…I guess eat me.

But as he was following along, he was staring at my soul and thinking, against his will almost, without even really realizing it…that there was something so absolutely lovely and pure about it (shut up, guys, I already told you it wasn’t really me) that he just knew he wanted to get closer…and the closer he got, the more entranced he became by this complete innocence I must have been radiating.  (Perhaps this comes from my joke to Steve last night, while putting away the basket that held the taco shells, that I always felt like Little Red Riding Hood carrying it.)

Anyway…he just became so entranced by my “innocence” that it completely washed over him and changed him back–but not immediately–he was very cautious at first, not exactly sure what was going on (maybe he didn’t know anything was going on)…and…I’ve got to go to class in a minute, that’s why I’m rushing along here.  I think there may have been a lot more to it but it’s time to go.

Squidwood

Last night, I got a full night’s sleep for the first time in a very long time, and I believe that is probably also the reason why I had my first dream in a long time.  And I am, of course, going to tell you about it, because that is what I do.  (But let me just warn you that, unlike many of my dreams, this one doesn’t make any logical sense at all, and is hardly even in a logical order.)

Cort and I went to L.A. to meet her dad, and to stay for a week or so.

So we’re staying in this huge hotel where, like, rich people stay, and Cort and I had our own suites, and I think her dad had his own floor…anyway, so Cort knocks on my door and says, “Come with me.”

I don’t know where we’re going, and I say as much, but she tells me that this doesn’t matter, and we go knock on her dad’s door, she tells him we’re going to “that place that she was telling him about” and he says, “Okay, you girls have fun,” and we leave.

We walk out of the hotel, and we head to this big hilly area, where it’s all wet and…marshy…and we’re just walking through, and walking through, and it’s all green and pretty actually, just wet because it had just rained…I clearly recall being able to see these beautiful mountain views from the tops of these hills, which were probably about 15 feet high themselves (this really doesn’t sound like L.A., cause I could see everything pretty clearly), and then they’d slope back down and we’d be in a little valley and not be able to see anything…and there were tire tracks that we were following, so apparently people sometimes drove through here, but we were walking.  (I think I saw bike tracks, too.)

Eventually we came up out of a little valley, after about ten minutes of walking, and were in front of another big, ritzy hotel.

Somehow, we are able to walk right inside and to somebody’s door.  We stop.

I say, “Is this what you wanted to show me?  This looks just like our hotel,” and she says, “Mm-hmm…you’ll see.”  And she knocks on the door.

Guy Pearce answers it.  (…?)  I can’t remember what she said, but somehow she convinces him to let us in.

We’re just sitting there; he’s standing by the bathroom door, we’re sitting on the edge of the bed, talking about…what?  I don’t remember.  I remember that, even though I’m not sure I’ve ever even heard his real accent, he was speaking in the Australian accent in the dream.

So then he says, “Well, could you please excuse me for a moment?”

Cort says, “Uh-huh!  Go ahead,” and he gives us a weird look and then heads into the bathroom (he’d had a towel around his neck since the moment he opened the door), and turns on the shower.

We just…sit there for a sec, and then Cort says, “So…isn’t this great?”

I bounced gleefully on the bed.  I squeaked, “How did you manage this!?”

Cort said, “I was just out walking around the other day when you were napping, and I saw this crowd of people, so I followed them, and they led me right to his door.”

None of this was logical in the slightest, but that’s how it goes in dreams.

We both just giggled for a few seconds, and then there was silence as we just sat there waiting….

Then he came out of the bathroom, in new clothes, drying his hair with the towel, gives us that same weird look like he’s trying to figure out who we are, or trying to remember if he knows us for some reason, and says, “Well…I sort of…have to get going…I’ve got a…thing…tonight,” and Cort says, “Okay, that’s fine.”

So then we went to this little café for dinner and ran into Elijah Wood.  He actually came up to our table and started hitting on us.  I mean, really bad pick-up lines and all.

Then he says, “I’d ask you to come back to my place, but I’ve got something to do tonight, so here’s my number.”

We ask what he’s planning to do that night, and it turns out he’s got a Wizard of Oz reunion party thing to go to, where they’re going to watch the movie (which he apparently was the star of when he was two.  …!?)

“Actually,” he says, “you two could come with me as guests.”

We decide this is a very good idea.

Eventually, what happens, after we run through the valley though a few more times, and change into prom dresses that we just happen to have laying around the hotel, and run back through the valley with the prom dresses on, we go to the party.  (Guy Pearce was there, too.)

And then there was chaos.  Not because of us, however.

We saw my boss’s head sticking up out of the ground.  He looked thoroughly pissed.

And then we found out that it wasn’t really the ground; it was a stage, and there was room underneath where he was standing up, and his head was coming through the ground, which had just grown there.  (When I say “ground”, I mean like, grass, dirt, outdoors-y sort of ground.)  So basically, my boss was wearing the ground like a necklace.

And then Elijah Wood steps out of a crowd of people and looks down on my boss’s head, and says, “You’ve made me very angry,” and he…he turns…green…and he starts growing really tall, and his clothes start tearing, and he turns into….

…Well, not the Hulk.  Where’d you get that idea?  I told you this wasn’t logical.

…He turned into one of those green squidlike alien beings from The Simpsons, except really tall.

And he started yelling all this stuff—at my boss (who must have seriously offended him somehow)—about how he had a miserable childhood, and everyone always made fun of him in school, and he had no confidence, and the person that he is today is only really an act, not real, and yada yada yada.

So then he points a tentacle at the ground and, BOOM!—the ground disappears, and it’s just a stage again, and we’re inside, and my boss ducks and I guess is under the stage.

But that’s not all that happened.  At the same time, a whole bunch more people from the crowd all turned into giant green squids.

It turned out that Elijah Wood was the leader of a whole bunch of aliens.

Well, we started yelling stuff up to him, trying to calm him down, and finally…he did…and he turned back into Elijah Wood…and then all the aliens shrunk back into human forms again, too.

Elijah Wood started crying, and we were hugging him and stuff, and apparently the party was over.  Haha.  So we just went and hung out with him.

He was telling us about his childhood, and I was giving him lots of advice and telling him it wasn’t that bad, and look at where he is now, and after a while he started to become really attached to me.

Cortney, who really likes Elijah Wood, saw this and didn’t seem to mind.

I, who have never really been attracted to him, started to like him back.  Weird.

Then the next thing I remember was us running all over our hotel in the middle of the night, and everything was really dark and stuff, and then we ran into Greta Garbo.  …!?

Okay, that’s it for now.  That dream took way longer than I expected.